


With Closed Eyes

by hazel_3017



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Reality, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel_3017/pseuds/hazel_3017
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sidney is five. His mommy’s name is Trina and his daddy’s is Troy. Hockey is his favourite thing in the whole wide world, and when he dreams, he dreams of the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Closed Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction

Sid is dreaming of Geno.

 

In his dream, Geno is laughing at him, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement as he reaches out for Sidney.

 

“Not pout so much,” he teases as he draws Sidney to him, his hands coming to rest low on Sidney’s hips. “Or pout on purpose, maybe? Want me to kiss pout away?”

 

Sid frowns and looks away from Geno’s knowing eyes. “I’m not pouting,” he says, and has to hold back a smile when Geno snorts disbelievingly at this. He looks back at Geno, meeting his eyes challengingly. “So what if I do? Want you to kiss me, I mean.”

 

Geno chuckles at him, and he dips his head, pausing with his lips only inches away from Sidney’s. “Only need ask,” he tells Sidney before closing the distance between them and—

 

Sidney wakes, his eyes shooting open in awareness. He stares up at the ceiling, taking a moment for his eyes to get used to the darkness, and then another to get his bearings.

 

There is a constellation of stars on his ceiling, glowing in the dark, and Sid remembers now.

 

Sidney is five. His mommy’s name is Trina and his daddy’s is Troy. Hockey is his favourite thing in the whole wide world, and when he dreams, he dreams of the future.

 

*

 

Sidney is awake and meeting Jack for the first time.

 

Well, pretending to anyway, and by Jack’s wary look, not doing a very good job of it.

 

“You think I’m weird,” Sid tells him later in the locker room. It’s just the two of them, the other guys having left already.

 

Sidney is smiling, huge and unrestrained, and when Jack starts to shake his head, too polite to confirm it, Sid’s grin widens. “It’s okay,” he says. “You like me anyway. We’re going to be great friends.”

 

Jack’s brows shoot up in surprise. “You say that as if it’s guaranteed.”

 

“It is.” Sid shrugs easily, and Jack stares at him in disbelief.

 

Finally, he laughs, not unkindly. “You’re right,” he says. “I do think you’re weird. And I guess I do kind of like you.”

 

Sid should probably stop grinning, but he’s known Jack for years already, even if this is the first time Jack gets to meet _him_.

 

When they’ve changed out of their gear and into their clothes, he reaches out, closing his hand around Jack’s wrist and starts dragging him along. Jack blinks, but lets Sid guide him along despite his obvious bemusement.

 

“Come on. If we hurry, we might catch your girlfriend before it’s too late.”

 

“I don’t have girlfriend,” Jack says, all confusion, and though he won’t tell Sid for another couple of years, he knows Jack is thinking how crazy Sidney is, and that Jack should not be following crazy people.

 

Sid has to hold back his giggles, hoping the conversation will be as funny the second time around.

 

“Not yet,” he says. “But that’s just because you haven’t met her yet. You and Sara are going to be a thing for _months_.” He wrinkles his nose, knowing how annoyed he’s going to be at Jack in the coming weeks. It won’t last, and Sid could stop them from meeting, but if he does Jack will meet the _other_ Sarah, the Sarah with the H, and Sid does _not_ want that future to play out. It would be a disaster on all accounts, and he much prefers the first Sara anyway.

 

 _She_ , at least, likes hockey.

 

“I don’t get you, man,” Jack says then, and when Sid looks over his shoulder, Jack is shaking his head at him.

 

Sid smirks. “You’ll be saying that ten years from now, too.”

 

He rolls his eyes when Jack doesn’t answer; he is too busy staring at the pretty blonde crossing the quad.

 

Sidney yells out for her. “Sara!”

 

She stops and looks around, her face settling into a mask of confusion when she sees Sid walking up to her, dragging Jack along by the wrist. “Sara, hi! Nice to see you again,” Sid says, and before she can get a chance to speak, he pulls on Jack’s wrist. The force of it makes Jack stumble a step, and Sara reaches out automatically to help steady him.

 

Sid grins, releases his hold on Jack, and says, “I’ve gotta go. But I wanted you to meet my friend Jack. I think you’ll guys will really hit it off.”

 

He takes off before either of them can stop him, and as he walks away he hears Sara say, “You play hockey?”

 

Sidney has seen it already; he doesn’t need to look back to see Jack heft the hockey bag on his shoulder as he tries to string together a sentence for the pretty girl before him.

 

Sidney is right, of course. They do hit it off. And while it doesn’t last, which he also knew, they part as friends four months later, and Sidney knows that in about fifteen years or so, he and Jack will be guests in Sara’s wedding.

 

(Sid and Sara are never actually formally introduced, and Sara never realises. This happens to Sidney a lot.)

 

*

 

Sidney is dreaming of Geno again.

 

He’s furious, yelling at Sid in Russian just to spite him, because he knows Sid hates it when he uses Russian to punish him, as if Sid doesn’t understand what he is saying.

 

“You dick! I can fucking understand you. You know I can,” Sidney yells back at him, clenching his hands into fists to keep from reaching for the nearest object, afraid he’ll brain Geno with it in anger.

 

“Fuck you!” Geno rages at him, and Sidney chokes out a laugh. It’s an ugly, bitter sound.

 

“No, fuck you! You don’t get to be angry with me for living my life, okay? _You’re_ the one who doesn’t want to be with me.”

 

Geno snarls. “You know that’s not—” He takes a deep breath. “You said you wait. You said you wait for me—”

 

“For how long?” Sid demands, his skin tingling in his fury. “How long am I supposed to wait? What if Russia never changes its laws? What then?” His chest is heaving with the force of his words, and he is so, so very angry. He knows he shouldn’t, but he’s never been good at controlling his anger, so he says, “I’ve never seen it. In all my dreams, I’ve never seen a time when Russ—”

 

“No!” Geno cuts him off violently. He strides across the room, grabbing hold of Sidney and pulling him into his chest for a fierce hug. “Don’t say. Don’t ever say.” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t have to. Sid knows what he means.

 

Geno is the only person outside his parents and Taylor who knows Sid can see the future. He hates it. He hates that Sidney’s visions always come true.

 

Sidney will sometimes dream several versions of the same event, but one of them always, _always_ happens.

 

Geno absolutely loathes it. Hates that Sidney knows the things he’ll say and do before Geno knows them himself. He’s gone so far as to forbid Sid from ever telling him what he dreams about.

 

It is probably the one thing they fight the most about, because Geno is scared. He’s scared of losing Sidney to the future and to memories of things that have yet to happen, because...

 

Because Sid forgets sometimes. He dreams every night and every dream is a vision. It’s easy to get lost in the whens of it when Sid lives his future as vividly as others live their present. His present and future blend together so easily that Sid can barely tell them apart most days. Sometimes, he can’t, and it’s Geno, usually, who drags him back, who grounds him in reality.

 

It’s Geno who reminds him that they don’t know any Tashas or Nickys, because Geno doesn’t know yet, he doesn’t know their childr—

 

“Sid? You okay?”

 

Sidney startles into awareness, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes. Jack is standing over him; his face looks young and he is wearing a Shattuck tee, and Sid remembers now.

 

Sidney is sixteen. He’s attending Shattuck St. Mary, and Jack Johnson is his best friend. He’s about to travel to Helsinki to play for Team Canada, and because when Sidney dreams he dreams of the future, he knows Finland is where Geno will see him for the first time.

 

*

 

Sidney is awake and seated next to Flower in silent solidarity. The rest of the plane is silent, most guys sleeping or listening to their iPods or mp3 players.

 

Next to him, Flower is stewing in his own guilt and misery, and he has only known Sid for the length of the tournament, but Sid has years of remembered dreams to draw from; he knows Flower will talk when he’s ready.

 

He turns the page of his book, grimacing at Harry’s stupidity. All he has to do is use the two-way mirror and he’d know the vision was a trap. Now, Sirius will die, and the series will only get darker from here. There are still two books yet to be published, but Sid already knows how the series ends.

 

He’s not quite sure how that works, because Sidney knows how this book ends too; he’s dreamt it. But this is the first time he’s physically reading it, and if he stopped reading now, he’d still know how it ends. Sid doesn’t think that makes much sense, but he’s learnt it’s best not to question it. That way lies madness and a ton of confusion.

 

“Why are you sitting with me?”

 

Sid looks up from his book, making sure that his bookmark is firmly in place before he closes it. He doesn’t need it, isn’t even sure he’ll end up finishing the book, but he likes knowing where he left off just in case.

 

He waits until he has tucked away the book into the pocket of the seat in front of him before he turns to look at Flower.

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Flower glares at him, his shoulders tense, bunched up around his ears defensively. “I lost us the game,” he says bluntly. “We could have won if it wasn’t for me, and everyone knows it.”

 

Sid sighs. It’s true that Team Canada lost out on the gold medal because of Flower’s mistake, but they were never going to win that game. In all the versions Sid has dreamt, Canada lost that game every time; in one version, Getzy got tangled up in two defensemen while crashing the net. He slams into the boards, head first, his neck bent at an awkward angle, and he’s not moving, he’s not; he lies limp on the ice, and Sidney knows, even before the medic reaches him, that Getzy won’t get up. He’s already dea—

 

“Whatever,” Flower hisses. “Just ignore me. Everyone else is.”

 

Sidney says, “What?” and it takes him a second to let the sounds of the plane filter into focus, the ice before his eyes fading until there is only Flower in front of him. “No one is ignoring you,” he says. “They’re just disappointed. Nobody wants to lose.” He shrugs. “There’ll be other games, other chances at gold. We’ll win then.”

 

Flower stares at him. “Why are you being so friendly? Why aren’t you angry?”

 

Sid blinks. “Do you _want_ me to be angry?”

 

“No.” It’s grudging, and not a little mulish, but Sid knows better than to point it out. It’ll only annoy Flower, and Sidney has learnt over the years that an annoyed Flower is never a good thing.

 

Except, that’s not entirely true; it hasn’t happened yet. Sid shouldn’t know Flower like this yet, but he does. It’s happened for him, he’s already lived it. Sidney feels the weight of those years as surely as he feels the years of his past.

 

“You do that a lot don’t you?”

 

Sidney hums. “What’s that?” he asks, and the look Flower sends him is one of exasperated fondness. It’s a look Sidney is well acquainted with.

 

“Space out. You do it all the time.”

 

Sidney doesn’t bother denying it. “Not on the ice,” he says instead, because he doesn’t. His head is never as clear as it is when he’s playing, never as present or in the moment as when he’s flying across a fresh sheet of ice.

 

“It’s weird,” Flower says, “but I feel like we’ve met before.”

 

“Oh?” Sid says, smiling serenely.

 

Flower shifts restlessly in his seat. “Yes,” he says slowly, squinting at Sidney as if trying to place him in his memory. “You know, it’s weird, but when we first met at orientation, you called me Flower.” He pauses. “I kept wondering, we hadn’t even been introduced, but you called me Flower.”

 

Sid hums. “Someone probably pointed you out to me, and besides, everyone calls you Flower,” he points out, but Flower looks unconvinced, eyeing Sidney dubiously.

 

“I guess,” he says after a beat. “I still think it’s weird. It was like you already knew me.”

 

“Maybe I do, maybe we know each other in a different life.” Sidney giggles a little at his own joke. A future life, more like.

 

Finally, Flower’s expression clears, the honking sound of Sid’s giggles enough to make him smile despite his misery. “You do that too,” he tells Sid. “Confuse your tenses,” he explains when Sid hums at him in question.

 

Sidney can only shrug at the truth of that. He has enough difficulties keeping track of present and future events to pay attention to his tenses too, which explains his abysmal English grade. Not that he can tell his teacher that.

 

“Tell me about playing for the Penguins,” he says, and closes his eyes in contentment as Flower starts talking about the team that will one day be his too, and what it had been like, meeting Mario Lemieux.

 

Sid thinks it’s probably weird to feel nostalgic for a guy he hasn’t even met yet, but Mario is such a big part of his life, is _going to be_ such a big part of his life, and Sid misses the steady familiarity he knows he’ll one day associate with the Lemieux family.

 

He mostly only feels fond when he thinks about the people he loves but hasn’t met yet, but some people he can’t bear to think about. It’s worse when he lets himself think of Geno. Missing Geno feels a little like missing a limb sometimes, and there are days when the future is too distant, when Sid wakes and Geno isn’t there and he’s still sleepy enough that he doesn’t understand why.

 

Sidney is mostly okay with his visions, but there are days he hates that he knows how wonderful Geno is, how much Sidney loves him, is going to love him, and knowing that he won’t get to have Geno be a part of his life like that for years yet. Those are the days Sidney prays for a dreamless sleep.

 

(His prayers are never answered.)

 

*

 

Sidney is dreaming of hockey.

 

He’s on the ice, grinding his teeth furiously against his mouth guard to keep from snapping back at Ovechkin.

 

They’re tied in overtime with less than two minutes to go, and Ovechkin is flinging Russian taunts at Sid every time they’re on the ice for the same shift.

 

Sidney is furious, and Ovechkin knows it, even if he’s mistaking the reason why. He thinks Sid’s ire stems from the Russian, believes Sid is frustrated because he doesn’t understand what he’s saying, but he’s wrong.

 

Sid understands him perfectly.

 

“ _Oh, is the pretty princess upset? Hm? Shouldn’t be flapping your mouth around like that, princess. People might get ideas.”_

 

Opponents and rival fans have been trying to emasculate Sid for years. He’s been hearing taunts about his ass and lips ever since his teens; Ovechkin isn’t saying anything new.

 

That doesn’t mean Sid doesn’t get frustrated, or that he isn’t pissed that they keep commenting on what he looks like, because most of the time, they can’t fault his actual skill or performance.

 

And the thing is, Sid doesn’t get talked about in the same way other players are. He doesn’t get called too fat or too scrawny. No, Sidney’s body gets appropriated in a way no one else’s is. They talk about his pretty, cock-sucking lips, about his ass made for fucking. They tell him how good he’d look like, on his knees, docile and contained.

 

He scares them. They look at him and don’t quite know how to make sense of him. So they try to subvert him, to feminise him in a way they equate with _weaker_ and _lesser_. When Sid argues against a call, he’s _bitching_ , or being a cry-baby, a _pussy_. He’s not doing anything that every other player isn’t doing, but Sid is forever held to a different standard, a lesser one.

 

“ _But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?_ ” Ovechkin continues to croon at him. “ _You’d like getting your pretty lips around a thick cock._ ”

 

And the truth is, Ovechkin isn’t wrong. Sidney _does_ like sucking cock, and it absolutely infuriates him that he should be made to feel ashamed of that. As if liking sex, as if _Sid_ , specifically, liking sex is something he should apologise for.

 

He won’t. He refuses to.

 

He’s been thrown out of the face-off circle, is jostling with Ovechkin along the boards, and before the ref drops the puck, Sid lifts his head and smiles.

 

“ _Why, Ovi, are you so desperate for someone to finally suck your cock you’ll settle for anyone?”_

 

The puck is dropped and Geno wins the draw. It goes flying backwards to the tape of Tanger’s stick, and Sid is already moving, brushing past Ovechkin and driving for the lane he can see opening when the Washington defensemen sees Geno coming along the right boards. He’s half a step closer than Sid, his longer strides eating away at the ice, and the D overcommits.

 

It’s a mistake that will cost them the game.

 

Sid hasn’t even finished his call for the puck before Tanger is making the pass. Sid reaches behind him with his left hand, catches the puck with his stick and drags it to the inside of his skate blade, kicks it to the other skate and then to the back of his stick; it’s in his right hand now, and he backhands the puck over Varlamov’s shoulder and into the net.

 

Sid roars in triumph and slams into the board, taunting the red sea of Capitals fans with an uncharacteristic slap of his hands into the glass.

 

He grins at the sound of their collective disappointment, and widens his grin when Geno crashes into him, yelling at him gleefully in a mixture of English and Russian.  

 

“Sid! You did it! We won! Sid—”

 

“—ney? Are you listening to me?”

 

Sid groans, turning his face into his pillow. “Go ‘way, Alexa. I’m napping. We’ll play later, okay?”

 

He feels her small hands shove at him ineffectually, and hides a smile into his pillow.

 

“No, you have to wake up now!” she insists, with all the ferocious authority of a nine-year-old. “Daddy says our guests are coming soon, and you should get ready.”

 

Sidney frowns. Guests? “Who is—” He cuts himself off before he can finish his question.

 

Geno!

 

He shoots up in bed, sudden enough to startle Alexa, who goes stumbling backwards a couple of steps. “Geno!” Sidney exclaims, delighted. Alexa stares at him in wide-eyed shock.

 

“Geno is coming. He’s really coming.” Sidney feels a rush of excitement wash over him, and suddenly he’s scrambling off the bed and scurrying into the bathroom, leaving Alexa behind to blink at him in confusion.

 

Sidney is nineteen years old. He plays for the Pittsburgh Penguins in the NHL. He lives with his boss and his boss’ family, and in just a short while, Sidney will finally, _finally_ , meet his husband for the first time.   

 

*

 

Sidney is awake and watching his husband make out with someone else.

 

Except he’s not, because Geno is not his husband, not for a long while yet. In fact, Sidney doesn’t think Geno likes him much at all right now.

 

It hurts, because Sidney loves him so, so very much, and Geno’s ignorance is a painful sting, constant and aching.

 

Sidney hates this when and this time, hates having Geno so close he can physically touch, but so distant anyway there might as well have been a whole ocean between them. He misses Geno, _his_ Geno, the one who knows Sidney almost better than he knows himself. He misses the Geno who looks at him as if he’s someone precious, as if Geno can’t quite believe he’s real.

 

Most of all, he misses the recognition, because _this_ Geno looks at him as just another guy on the team, his sometime liney. _Indifferent_ , that’s how this Geno feels about him, and it eats away at Sidney’s heart, weighs heavily in his chest and makes it difficult to breathe.

 

Sidney is so desperate for the Geno who loves him that he has taken to sleep more often, letting the reality of the _now_ morph into the reality of the _far-off now_. Every moment he’s awake, he longs for the future of his dreams until the longing becomes too much and Sidney sleeps and sleeps, so much so that people are starting to notice.

 

Sid knows it isn’t healthy, he knows he can’t keep spending his life in an endless cycle of hockey and sleep, but he’s hurting, and he can’t even verbalise it; who outside his family and Geno, _future_ Geno, would believe him? And even if they did, they could never understand, even if Sidney somehow found a way to explain the loss and the ache of something that hasn’t even happened yet.

 

So he sleeps, and he watches.

 

Watches Geno and seethes with jealousy, clenching his hands into tight fists to keep himself rooted in place. He forces his eyes away from the sight of Geno’s hands inching their way beneath his partner’s shockingly short dress, and blinks, momentarily surprised when he meets Gonch’s gaze, head tilted to one side as he eyes Sidney thoughtfully.

 

“ _If I didn’t know any better_ ,” he starts to say in Russian, and Sidney sits very still, making no indication that he understands.

 

“I can’t figure out if you like him or hate him; you seem to pine and glare at him in equal measure,” Gonch says, in English this time.

 

Sidney doesn’t bother denying it or even feigning confusion. There’s no point. Not when Sidney can’t go five minutes in Geno’s presence without alternating between sighing forlornly and scowling in frustration.

 

“He reminds me of someone I know.”

 

Gonch spares a glance at Geno and his girl before looking back at Sidney, his keen eyes seeing more than Sidney is comfortable with. “Someone you love?”

 

His eyes are warm and understanding, but there’s pity there too, and Sidney can’t bear to look at it. He turns his gaze on the table top, takes a swig of his beer to stall for time. He’s still not old enough to drink, but his teammates insists on buying him alcohol to ‘loosen him up’, and Yinzers love him enough to look the other way as long as it’s just a beer or two. There had been an exciting novelty to that in the beginning, because Sidney equated it with _team_ and _acceptance_. Now, the beer might as well be a mouthful of dust for all he has to force himself to swallow it.

 

“Sidney?”

 

He doesn’t answer, but then he doesn’t have to. His silence is confirmation enough.

 

Gonch frowns at him, the look of concern on his face one that Sidney is becoming increasingly familiar with. Mario looks at him like that, his coaches, even Army and Flower— _You sleep all the fucking time, Sid. It’s not normal, okay? You’re scaring us._

 

“Did he die? The one Geno reminds you of.”

 

Sidney has to hold back the hysterical laughter that wants to burst out from his chest at that. “No,” he says, his voice strangled. “No, he isn’t dead. He just doesn’t—” _love me._ He can’t even say the words aloud. The reality of a Geno that doesn’t love him hurts too much, and it’s a constant ache, a never healing wound.

 

Sidney has been dreaming of his future for as long as he can remember. He dreams of all aspects of his life, but mostly of Geno. Even so, he never dreamt how he and Geno would meet, had no idea what would enfold when it actually happened, but he hadn’t worried about it, because Sidney had never had a dream where Geno didn’t love him. He hadn’t even thought such a thing was possible.

 

Not until the reality of it became his present; Geno doesn’t love him, and Sidney fears he never will.

 

“I think I’ll head home now. I’m tired; I want to sleep.”

 

“What? You’re leaving already?”

 

Sidney turns to see Jordy, standing by their booth with his arm wrapped around a girl’s waist, his face red and pupils wide. He’s drunk.

 

Sidney smiles at him sadly; he’s going to miss Jordy so much. “Yeah,” he says. “You’ll be okay to get home?”

 

Jordy nods easily as Sidney stands from the booth, grinning when Sidney gets close enough to press their foreheads together. Sidney rarely lets himself be this affectionate off the ice, but his teammates enjoy it, he knows, and he feels the easy love and familiarity between them soothe some of the painful sting in his chest.

 

“Take care of this one,” he tells Jordy, voice low enough that the girl can’t hear over the bass of the music. “She might turn out to be your future wife.”

 

Jordy looks at him as if he’s crazy, the disbelief clear on his face, but when Sidney gathers his coat and starts making his way out of the bar, he can see him eyeing her speculatively, because Sid is known to say weird shit all the time, but he’s never wrong.

 

He casts a last glance over his shoulder as he leaves the bar, his eyes meeting Geno’s for a brief, frozen moment, and then the door closes behind him.

 

(Sid already knew, but the next day Jordan tells him the girl’s name is Heather, and he thinks she’s pretty special. Jordy will marry her on the same day he’ll get traded to the Carolina Hurricanes. It’s a bittersweet day. It’s _going to be_ a bittersweet day.)

 

*

 

Sidney is dreaming of Russia.

 

He’s stopping to pose for pictures and sign autographs every five steps, and Dewey has long since abandoned him. It takes him longer than he likes to get inside the arena, but Sid has never been good at denying his fans. He tries to balance it as best he can, pleasing his fans while making sure he fulfils his other obligations; he doesn’t want to inconvenience anyone, especially team members, because of all the attention he gets.

 

“Sidney Crosby. Big star, even in Russia. You sign autograph for me too?”

 

Sidney breaks into a wide smile, turning to see Geno leaning up against a wall, watching Sidney with dark, warm eyes.

 

“Geno!” he says, inordinately pleased to see him. He blinks when Geno straightens, stalking forward until they’re so close Sidney has to crane his neck to meet his eyes. “What are you—”

 

Geno lifts a hand, reaching for the strap of Sidney’s helmet, undoing the clasp before gently lifting the helmet off Sidney’s head. He lets it fall to the ground, and Sidney should scold him about treating their gear so carelessly, but then Geno cradles Sidney’s face in his hands, and Sidney’s parted lips can’t quite manage to form out the words to do it.

 

“There,” Geno says, the pads of his thumbs stroking over the high cut of Sidney’s cheekbones, sharper now that they are so far into the season. “There you are, ЛюбимЫй мой. Mой красивый Sid.”

 

Sidney blushes, can feel the heat of it spread across his cheeks. They’re not into pet names, so much, at least not in a context that doesn’t involve sex. They’re both tactile guys, though, shows their affection more easily through touch rather than words.

 

But sometimes, if Geno is in the right mood, he’ll lavish praise at Sidney. Word after word of love and affection, so sweet and sugary Sidney squirms with it, pleased even through his embarrassment.

 

“Hi,” Sidney says, his voice a little breathless.

 

Geno smiles. “Hi,” he says back. He leans down for a kiss, his mouth hot on Sidney’s, taking, taking, taking.

 

Sidney is so greedy for it he forgets where they are, forgets what will happen if they’re caught. Sidney had been headed to practise when Geno called out for him, walking through an abandoned hallway because he is so late. But it’s a busy corridor, and someone could come by at any time; they really shouldn’t be kissing in public.

 

“Geno,” Sidney mumbles against his mouth, and Geno hums into their kiss. Sidney forces himself to pull back. “We can’t. Not here.”

 

Geno huffs in annoyance, but lets his hands fall from Sidney’s face, taking a step back to create some distance between them.

 

Sid misses him already.

 

“What are you even doing here?” he asks when Geno keeps sulking. “Shouldn’t you be with your team? I thought you said I was the enemy right now.” He’s teasing, knows Geno can’t even bear to think of Sid as a rival, much less an enemy, but he looks pointedly at Geno’s Team Russia sweats anyway.

 

Geno scowls, looks off to the side. “Missed you,” he says. “Too much Ovechkin, not enough Sid.”

 

Sidney laughs at that. He closes the distance between them, reaching out to clasp his hand around Geno’s. “ _It’s not that long now. We’ll be home soon enough_.”

 

Geno looks back at him, grinning a little at Sidney’s horrid Russian. He squeezes Sid’s hand, lifts it to his lips and places a quick kiss against his pulse point as a reward for his effort.

 

God, Sidney wishes they were alone. Wishes they were back home. “I love you,” he says, his tone more wistful than he usually allows himself.

 

“I love you—”

 

There’s a loud crash, and Sidney startles so violently he rolls off the couch.

 

“Urgh,” he groans, and winces at the truly foul taste in his mouth. His body feels sluggish and his face blotchy. He’s been crying.

 

He climbs to his feet slowly, stepping over Flower and Tanger, curled around each other on the floor. He walks into Max’s kitchen, desperate for something to wash away the foulness in his mouth, but freezes when he sees someone already there. “Sorry,” he says. “I was just getting something to drink; I didn’t think anyone would be up yet.”

 

He turns to leave, can’t really deal with this right now, but, “Stay,” Geno says, and Sid looks at him over his shoulder.

 

Geno lifts his teacup. “If want, enough for two.”

 

Sid turns, looks from Geno to the pot of tea in front of him. He didn’t even know that Max drank tea. Or maybe it’s Geno’s tea. He’s over often enough that he could have brought it himself.

 

Max and Geno are good friends, and even if Sid wishes Geno would spend more time with him, be as close with him, Sidney’s glad Geno has someone other than Gonch to rely on.

 

“Is it an apple blend?” he asks, even though he knows it is. Apple flavoured tea is Geno’s comfort drink.

 

“Yes,” Geno says slowly, and Sid thinks he sounds a little surprised. He has to swallow against a fresh wave of tears. Geno will be surprised at how well Sidney knows him for quite some time yet.

 

“You want?” Geno offers again, tilting his head a little as his eyes rove across Sidney’s face. He looks curious.

 

Sidney nods, stepping fully into the kitchen and taking a seat opposite Geno. “Thank you.” Their fingers brush when Geno hands him a cup, and Sidney sucks in a breath. He so rarely gets to touch Geno outside of hockey. He feels starved for it, has to force himself not to place the cup on the table and latch on to Geno’s hands.

 

He’s not sure he’d let go if he did.

 

Sidney is twenty years old. He just lost the Cup in game six against the Detroit Red Wings, and while he already knows he’ll get another chance at the Cup, he doesn’t know when. He’d hate that if he was alone, he thinks, but he’s not. He’s at Max’s house with teammates, with Geno; guys that are as good as his family.

 

Geno doesn’t know him yet, not like he’s going to, but Sidney tells himself it helps having him close, and very carefully does not think about the hollow ache in the pit of his stomach.

 

*

 

Sid is awake and touching himself.

 

He’s waited patiently for Duper to leave the room, and now that he’s alone, Sid doesn’t waste any moment before undressing, placing a towel on his hotel bed before getting out the lube.

 

Most of the guys are out celebrating their win against Tampa, but in the next room over, just behind the headboard of Sid’s bed, Geno is staying behind, having begged off claiming a headache.

 

He’s perfectly fine, Sidney knows. He’d seen him when Geno had made his excuses to Max and the other guys, and while he’d looked tense, it was the kind of tautness that came from Geno going too long without sex.

 

Geno has been single for a while now, and if Sid’s suspicions are right, Geno will take advantage of his alone time by getting off.

 

Sid plans to do the same.

 

He knows from experience that the walls of this hotel are thin; Geno will be able to hear him perfectly if Sid lets himself be as loud as he usually is.

 

He lies down on the bed, fussing a little with his pillows before he feels comfortable and relaxed enough to get going. He starts by letting his hands trail up and down his torso, keeping his touches gentle and feather light.

 

Sidney is a tease, even with himself, and he loves the build-up. Loves the feeling of anticipation as he runs his hands over his body, feeling it respond to the pleasure wrought by his own touch. He knows it can’t have been more than a few minutes since he started, but it feels like hours before he lets himself spread his thighs, a lube-slicked hand wrapping around his dick.

 

He keeps the touch light, the loose grip not nearly enough to give him what he wants.

 

It still feels good, though, and when Sidney’s thumb swipes over his slit, he moans long and loud.

 

On the other side of the wall, Sidney hears a thud and a muffled curse, and he smiles smugly to himself.

 

He strokes his cock as his other hand finds his mouth, fingers tracing along his bottom lip. He’s moaning at how good it feels, but Sidney wants more, and he sucks his fingers into his mouth, running his tongue over the digits, wishing they were someone else’s.

 

When he deems them wet enough, Sidney shifts a little on the pillow beneath his hips, spreading his thighs even further as his fingers bypasses his cock and goes straight for the place behind his balls.

 

It doesn’t matter how many times Sidney does this; his first touches are always a little tentative, anticipating of what is to come. He presses down carefully, feels the slight give of his flesh as his index finger catches on his rim, and it’s good, so, so very good. He closes his eyes when he finally pushes a finger inside, humming with pleasure at the slight stretch.

 

It’s not long before he feels loose enough to add another, riding his fingers and releasing a string of breathless grunts. “Ah, ah, ah, ah.” He’s getting progressively louder, the way he does when he knows he’s completely alone, but he’s not this time. Geno is there, in the next room, jerking his cock and listening to Sidney get off.

 

Sid can hear him, can hear the muffled sound of his broken cries, a litany of, “Sid, Sid, Sid,” because Geno has been curious about him for a while now, but lately, lately he’s been looking at Sidney with _interest._

 

Sid is so fucking turned on he thinks he might burst if he doesn’t come soon, and it’s nothing at all, to push in a third finger and imagine it’s Geno finger fucking him. To imagine Geno prepping him, stretching him wide enough to take Geno’s cock.

 

“ _Yes,_ ” Sidney pants out. He’s flushed red all over, knows his voice is carrying into Geno’s room, knows Geno can hear him when he says, “Yes, yes. Fuck me! _Fuck_ me.”

 

He comes, his vision whiting out as he spills all over the hand around his cock, and his hole clenches around the fingers in his ass.

 

He wishes he could just lie there on his bed, enjoying the slight burn of the stretch around his fingers, his hole feeling a little oversensitive now that he’s come, but Duper will be back soon enough and Sidney has to clean up.

 

Sighing a little in regret, Sidney gingerly withdraws his fingers, careful not to hurt himself. He can’t help but whine a little at the emptiness, and on the other side of the wall, Geno curses again.

 

Sidney doesn’t know when they’ll get together, but he thinks it’s not long now. He can feel it building between them, feels it in the looks Geno keeps giving him, in how he touches Sidney now; it’s almost possessive the way Geno acts around him these days, crowding into Sidney’s space as if it is his right, and fuck anyone who says differently.

 

(It’s a little pathetic how greedily Sid soaks up all of the attention. It’s probably more pathetic that he doesn’t care.)

 

*

 

Sidney is in pain.

 

His head is a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories of things that hasn’t happened yet. Or maybe they have, maybe what is happening is happening right now and not in the future. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t _know_. He can’t tell if he’s awake or dreaming, and the terror of not knowing seizes hold of his heart, squeezing so tight Sidney can’t breathe.

 

He wants to open his eyes, thinks he could tell when he is by what he looks like, by the markers of age and wear on his face and body. It’s been a while since he has dreamt of the not too far-off now. He's mostly been dreaming of the distant future lately, of the time after hockey, and if he could just open his eyes, see how old he is, Sidney would know. He would know when he is.

 

But he can’t. Even just the thought of forcing his lids open makes him cringe with pain. His head is throbbing, a fierce ache at the back of his skull.

 

He has a headache, and Sidney gets those, will get those, bad ones, for the rest of his life. _Oh, God_. He doesn’t know when he is. _He doesn’t know_.

 

“Hush, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”

 

Sidney thinks he recognises the voice; thinks it might be his mom or Nathalie. Whoever it is doesn’t matter. He needs Geno. Geno will help him.

 

“Geno!” he gasps, fingers clenching uselessly against the sheets underneath him. “I need Geno. Where is he?"

 

“Geno just had surgery, remember? He’s at home, resting.”

 

Sidney shakes his head, winces at the pain it causes, and scrunches his eyes tight. He wants so badly to open them, but he can’t. Just the thought of the pain it will bring him…

 

“I need him. Please.” He heaves, feels acid burning at the back of his throat. He thinks he might throw up. “ _Please_.”

 

He can hear soft murmuring, thinks maybe there’s someone else there. A door closes, and then there is nothing. Time passes, but Sidney doesn’t know how much. He knows nothing but the sharp pain in his head and the overwhelming panic of not having Geno close by.

 

_When is he? When is he? When is he?_

 

“Sid.”

 

Geno. That’s Geno’s voice.

 

“Geno,” he says, breathless. “Geno, I don’t know when I am. I don’t know!”

 

“He’s been talking like this for a while. I can’t make sense of it. I don’t know what he means,” the voice from before says, and it must be Nathalie. It has to be Nathalie.

 

He hears Geno grunt, and then the bed dips. Sidney feels him climb in gently, careful, moans gratefully when Geno settles close, when his fingers lock with Sidney’s.

 

Sid is so relieved at the grounding touch that he can feel some of the pressure in his skull alleviate.

 

“Concussion, Sid. You’re when concussion happens,” Geno tells him, his voice so soft and low Sidney thinks Nathalie could not have heard.

 

“Concussion?” he repeats, and feels the terror spread, growing inside of him. Sid has known for years that there would be a time when his brain would break a little, where he’d be so out of it that he couldn’t even play hockey.

 

He’s been dreading it, because he hadn’t known how he’d react to it, didn’t know if his broken mind could separate between dream and reality. He’s afraid he’ll get stuck in a loop, that he’ll dream of the concussion as well as living it, and he’ll be trapped in an endless cycle of pain and distorted reality.

 

“No. _No!_ ” he says, limbs trashing frantically. He’s so scared. How is he supposed to know what is real? He can’t even remember how long he’s been out, doesn’t remember when the concussion happened. Days ago? Months?

 

He can’t tell if he’s awake, can’t tell if this is real. He doesn’t _know_.

 

He feels Geno’s hand tighten on his, and Sidney clings to that touch as if it is his lifeline. “Geno,” he says urgently. “I don’t know if I’m dreaming. I don’t know!” He’s getting hysterical, is so beside himself he barely registers Nathalie’s strangled sob. “Oh, Sidney,” she’s saying, but he can’t focus on it, can’t focus on anything but the pain in his head and Geno’s hand in his.

 

“Geno!” He’s gasping for breath, terrified out of his mind. “ _Geno_.”

 

A broad palm cups one side of his face, and there’s a shadow cast over Sidney’s eyes, noticeable even with his lids shut close.

 

Geno is leaning over him, talking to him in Russian, the words a low, comforting murmur.

 

Sidney knows he should understand, but his mind refuses to translate. He latches on to the sound of Geno’s voice, calming a little as he forces his waning attention on the love and familiarity he’s come to associate with Geno’s steady presence.

 

It takes a while, but eventually the words start making sense, and Sidney feels himself relaxing.

 

“ _You’re awake_ ,” Geno is saying. “ _It’s not a dream, it’s not the future. You’re in the right now, and I’ll remind you everyday until you can tell the difference yourself. I swear. I won’t leave. We planned for this, remember? You told me this would happen, told me how scared you’d be. And I said I’d take care of you; I promise I will take care of you._ ”

 

Sidney lets the words wash over him, keeping up with the Russian at a slower pace than he usually does, but he gets it, he understands.

 

He _does_ remember them talking about this. He remembers telling Geno he had to listen, that even though he hates it, this one time he needed to know what would happen in the future. He remembers saying it was important, remembers Geno giving in, but he can’t remember when it was. He thinks it must have been sometime after they got together the first time. Or maybe the second time?

 

Sidney feels the panic rising again.

 

Have they broken up, yet? Is this their first or second attempt at a relationship, at a life together?

 

“ _Sidney. Sid, listen to me, you’re drifting. Focus on my voice, focus on what I’m saying_.”

 

Sid takes a couple of slow, deep breaths. He squeezes the hand in his, and listens to Geno’s voice.

 

*

 

Sidney is drifting.

 

He sleeps more than he is awake, and when he does open his eyes, he’s never sure when he is. His future feels as real as his present, and Sidney needs help remembering now. He’ll speak about things that won’t happen for years as if he just lived them, and doesn’t understand why people look at him sadly, why they can’t make sense of his words.

 

Geno is there most of the time, and that makes things better, but he can’t always be there. He still needs to live a life outside of Sidney and Sidney’s pain. Geno still has hockey.

 

Sidney has hockey too, sometimes, when he sleeps. He likes sleeping. He dreams then, and in his dreams he has hockey and Geno.

 

When he’s awake, there’s mostly just pain.

 

He’s drifting, blind to the passing of time and the world around him. There’s Geno, and Geno is a constant, awake or asleep, but Sidney struggles to separate the two. Sometimes he’ll dream, and it feels so real he thinks he’s awake, thinks his visions are happening right now. Other times he’s awake, and he’ll scream himself hoarse, raging at everyone, furious and afraid and convinced he’s still sleeping, convinced it’s all a dream. He accuses them of conspiring against him.

 

Sidney is twenty-four. He is twenty-five.

 

Sidney is drifting.

 

*

 

“What about now?”

 

“I’m awake.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Sidney sighs, and then scowls when Geno rolls his eyes at Sidney’s exasperation. “Yes, I’m sure,” he says firmly, reaching out with his foot to poke at Geno’s thigh. “You’re too young for me to be dreaming, and we’re still at my house.” He pauses to sip at his tea. It’s apple flavoured. “We live together now,” he says carelessly when he leans over to put his teacup on the coffee table.

 

It’s Geno’s turn to sigh, and he eyes Sidney disapprovingly from his corner of the couch. “ _Will_ live together,” he stresses. “Shouldn’t say, Sid. Dangerous to know future.”

 

That’s always been his opinion, and it’s not going to change, Sidney knows. Sidney is not going to stop dreaming either. Geno knows that.

 

He shrugs. “Whatever. At least I know I’m awake. I know this is the present.”

 

Geno smiles at that. “Yes. Is good. I’m most proud.”

 

He is too. Sidney hasn’t been in his right mind for such a long time; now that he’s getting progressively better, Geno is so visibly relieved that the tense knot of worry he’s been carrying in his shoulders has started to disappear.

 

Sidney is the one who’d been going out of his mind, but Geno had watched him go through it, unable to help and uncertain if he would ever get better. Sidney sometimes thinks it must have been worse for Geno; he doesn’t know how Geno didn’t ever give up on him. Doesn’t know where Geno found the strength to stay when Sidney was at his worst.

 

“I love you,” Sidney says, because he needs Geno to know, needs him to never doubt that. He watches Geno watch him, and then Geno is lifting Sidney’s feet off his lap, getting up from his seat to crawl over Sidney.

 

“Hi,” he says when he’s pressed over Sidney, their faces inches apart.

 

“Hey,” Sidney says back, his fingers lifting to thread through Geno’s hair, moving to settle at the back of his neck.

 

Geno hums, bending his forehead to rest against Sidney’s. They stay like that, breaths evening out until they’re breathing in sync. It's a quiet moment. Intimate. “Love you,” Geno says then. “Love you most.”

 

Sidney opens his mouth, but before he gets the chance to argue the superiority of his devotion, Geno closes the distance between, kissing Sidney deep and slow.

 

Sidney is awake. He’s twenty-five years old and has been concussion free for three weeks now. Geno is his boyfriend, and while they don’t live together, Sidney knows they will soon.

 

(He also knows that this year, the Flyers will eliminate Pittsburgh in the first round of the playoffs. And while that sucks, _a lot_ , it’s also the reason why Geno is available to purchase the house they are going to grow old in. Sidney can’t quite bring himself to be upset about that.)

 

*

 

Sidney is dreaming of his children.

 

They are running around in the backyard, screaming with childish delight as Sidney chases after them with his water gun.

 

“No, Daddy! No!” Tasha tells him sternly when he corners her by the doghouse. She’s hiding behind Lady, but the Golden Retriever barks loudly when she realises what Sidney has holding in his hands, and she takes off before she can become collateral.

 

Tasha stares after her, her expression so betrayed Sidney can’t help his loud laugh. “Looks like you’re on your own, kiddo,” he says, and takes aim.

 

He’s tackled to the ground before he can douse her in water, hears both of his kids laugh themselves silly as Geno sprawls out over him, a deadweight on top of Sid. “What did you do that for?” Sidney asks once he catches his breath. “You’re gonna get wet now too.”

 

Sure enough, Tasha and Nicky aim their little squirt guns at them, firing gleefully. The guns contain too little water to do much damage, but Geno doesn’t seem to care either way. He presses a quick kiss to Sidney’s cheek before he’s up and running, catching one kid under each of his arms.

 

He takes off, the three of them cackling madly with Lady yipping happily at Geno’s feet, and Sidney stares after them, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. He’s so happy he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, so he sits there in the grass, water trailing down his face as he watches his family fondly, feeling as if his chest could burst from all the love he feels for them.

 

“Sid!” Geno calls out for him when he’s put the kids down by the swing, turning around to jog back to Sidney’s spot in the grass. “Hi.” He grins, settling down next to Sid, drawing him in for a kiss, a proper one on the lips. “Hi,” he says again when they pull apart.

 

Sidney smiles at him, leaning in to steal another kiss while his kids are distracted. Gods know he loves them, but they take a lot of work, and Sidney and Geno find time to themselves whenever they can. “How was Kody?” he asks and watches as Geno rolls his eyes.

 

“Most stupid,” he says, falling backwards and flinging an arm over his eyes. “Was never that stupid.”

 

Sid snorts loudly at that, lying down next to Geno and letting his husband pull him close. “You were an idiot,” he says bluntly. “Had no idea how to deal with me.”

 

Geno grins at him. “Yes,” he agrees. “You very difficult. Took me by surprise. I’m not know how to flirt with boy, only flirt with girls before.”

 

“You did okay,” Sidney assures him, leaning over to press a kiss against his jaw. Geno turns his face, searching until he finds Sidney’s lips. They kiss languidly, listening to the sounds of their children playing in the background. It’s the kind of perfect Sidney had thought he’d never have once. He’s glad he was wrong, so very, very glad. “You’re distracting me,” he says against Geno’s mouth. “You were telling me about Kody.”

 

Geno groans, knowing Sidney won’t let them get back to the kissing before he tells him what he wants to hear.

 

Kody had come to Duper a few days ago, telling him he thought he might be gay and unsure of how to deal with that; Kody had only ever liked girls.

 

Duper, beyond assuring his son that he loved him no matter what, had no idea how to deal with it and called up Geno, knowing he had gone through a similar experience.

 

“Kody confuse self. Think because he like one guy he is gay.”

 

Sidney lifts his brows in question. “You think he’s bi like you?”

 

Geno nods, tugging at Sidney until he’s lying more on top of him than next to him. “I’m ask how he feel about girls.” He snorts. “Definitely not gay. He like girls very much.”

 

“So who is this guy he’s crushing on, then?” Sidney asks, humming a little when Geno starts running his hands up and down his back.

 

“Is guy on team. His goalie.” Geno grins. “I say, I’m like guy on my team too, but not crazy enough to like goalie; all goalies crazy.”

 

Sidney pinches his side. “Geno!” he scolds.

 

Geno waves his hand carelessly. “Is all good,” he says. “We have good talk. Kody know he can like girls and boys at the same time now.” He eyes Sidney playfully. “He ask what to do now. Ask how he know if goalie likes him back.”

 

“What did you say?” Sidney asks him curiously. He hears Nicky yelling for them to watch how high he can swing, and they turn their heads, Sidney lifting a hand to wave at his kids, laughing a little when they quickly lose interest.

 

He looks back at Geno only to find him already staring at Sidney, his eyes so full of love it takes his breath away.

 

“I’m say do like I do. Just—”

 

“Get up, loser. You’ve done enough sleeping.”

 

Sidney blinks, taking a minute to go from sleep to awake before he registers the sight in front of him. It’s Flower, carrying Estelle on his hip and looking at him with such an unimpressed look on his face that Sidney can’t help but startle a little.

 

“Wha—”

 

“Look,” Flower says, cutting him off mid-word. “You’ve been moping for a week already, and I love you, man, I do, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You need to get your shit together. Do you want to be with him or not?”

 

“Of course I want to be with—”

 

“Then fucking tell him!” Flower exclaims, and it’s been a while since Sidney has heard him so exasperated. Flower sighs. He murmurs a quick apology in French for his bad language, pressing a kiss against Estelle’s hair, but then he focuses back on Sid. “Obviously, I don’t know the whole story; I know I don’t have all the facts, and I’m not gonna pretend I do, but Sid.” He pauses, the look in his eyes gentling a little. “He bought a ring. Geno made me swear not to tell, but he bought a ring, Sid. He wants to marry you.”

 

Sidney sucks in a startled breath, and stares wide-eyed at Flower. Then he’s scrambling to his feet, looking around for a shirt while struggling to put his socks on. “I have to go,” he breathes out, brushing past Flower and Estelle as he makes his way out of the guest room. He stops when he reaches the door, turning to look over his shoulder. “Thanks. For letting me stay here, for everything. I mean it, Flower.”

 

Flower waves a hand at him. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, but he’s grinning. “Go get your man.”

 

Sidney laughs at that, but he does as Flower says, rushing out of the house and into his car.

 

Sidney is twenty-six. His right wrist is busted, and he’ll have to get treatment for it over the summer now that the season is over. Geno is about to leave for Minsk to play for Russia at Worlds, but before he leaves, he and Sidney will talk. Sidney knows what he’ll tell Geno, and for once, it’s not because he has already dreamt it.

 

*

 

Sidney is awake and pulling Perry in for a friendly hug.

 

“Finally!” he says, thumping him on the back. “I thought you were never going to get here. Now we’re only missing Max.”

 

David is side eyeing him with great prejudice, and over Sidney’s shoulder, he’s mouthing, “ _What?_ "at Tanger.

 

Tanger shrugs, having long-since grown used to Sidney’s ways, and Sid knows he’ll explain later. David won’t get it until a few weeks later, not least of all because Tanger doesn’t exactly know just what it is he’s explaining, but also because that is when Max Lapierre is traded to the Penguins from St. Louis.

 

He’ll remember that Sid mentioned him now.

 

“Sid,” Geno says, chuckling as he reaches out to detangle Sidney’s arms from around Perry. “Let him breathe, is new to team.” He holds out his hand. “Nice to meet. I’m Evgeni Malkin. You call me Geno,” he says when Perry accepts his hand.

 

“David Perron,” he says, and looks a little wary when Geno shares a sly, knowing look with Sidney.

 

“Perry,” Geno corrects, and that is what most of the guys will be calling him from now on, no matter how much David protests. Like Horny, the nickname was already decided long before he was traded to Pittsburgh.

 

Perry eyes them uncertainly. “Uhm,” he says.

 

Sidney grins happily. “You’re going to like it here. We’re going to win a Cup together, you know. Maybe two. I’m a little fuzzy on that second one, was still concussed when I—”

 

Next to him, Geno sighs loudly, but it sounds fond when he says, “Come on, ЛюбимЫй. Have meeting with Coach, Да? Not be late.”

 

“I guess,” Sidney says, and he knows he’s pouting when Geno puts his hand on the small of his back, leaving Perry to Tanger’s capable hands as he herds Sidney out of the locker room. Geno reaches for his hand as soon as they are alone, tangling their fingers together, and Sidney sighs happily.

 

“Perry is going to be a really good fit here, on and off the ice,” he tells Geno, rolling his eyes a little when Geno squeezes his fingers warningly. “I’m just saying.”

 

“Not just say. Future should be surprise. Always.”

 

Sidney sneaks a look at him. “I don’t think I’d like that very much. Not for the big things, at least. I remember when we first met outside my dreams. You didn’t even like me then; I hated not knowing if we’d ever get together. It’s the only time I have ever doubted my visions.”

 

Geno stops suddenly, tugging at Sidney’s hand when he keeps walking. He pulls him close, his eyes dark and serious as he looks at Sid. “You and me, we not together because of what you dream. I’m with you, want to be with you always, because I’m love you, because when I’m think of _my_ future, I’m want you there.” He raises his free hand, settling it under Sidney’s chin, tilting his face up. “I’m love you because of how you make me feel, not because you see it in dream and think is future. You and me, right now, right here, is real. Is happening now.”

 

“Geno,” Sidney breathes. He feels stunned, and maybe even a little relieved.

 

Sidney has been dreaming of his future his entire life, and everything he dreams comes true. There has been a part of him, buried deep in the back of his mind, that had been terrified that Geno loves him because Sidney dreamt it, because he already knew it was his future.

 

Everything he dreams comes true, and Sidney had been scared that meant Geno had no agency, that Geno’s future was preordained because Sidney had seen and known his love from such a young age. But—

 

“Is my choice,” Geno says fiercely. “Is always my choice. I love you.”

 

Sidney has to kiss him then, reaching forward to press his lips hungrily against Geno’s.

 

He doesn’t think he could possibly feel happier or more at ease with the world than he does right then, and even as the thought crosses his mind, he already knows he will. There is a ring on a chain around his neck, and soon it will be on his finger, and Geno will wear a matching one.

 

He’ll be overcome with happiness then.

 

There is a girl and a boy who hasn’t been born yet, but they’ll be the pride and joy of their fathers for years to come.

 

Sidney is happy, is going to be happy, and while there will be hardships and sadness too, he’ll get through it with Geno by his side and with the help and love of their friends and family.

 

(He’s even right about that second Cup.)

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I do not speak Russian and have relied on Google for translations. Please feel free to let me know if I'm completely off base.
> 
> Update 09/02/15: Thanks to [anjaspeaks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anjaspeaks/pseuds/anjaspeaks) for your suggestion regarding the Russian. I took your advice and have edited accordingly. I hope it looks better now.
> 
> Update 10/02/15: Thanks to [mealuna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mealuna) for your input. I'm fixing the Russian now. I hope this makes it accurate.
> 
> ЛюбимЫй мой - My sweetheart/darling  
> Mой красивый - My beautiful  
> ЛюбимЫй - Sweetheart/darling

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] With Closed Eyes by Hazel_3017](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719690) by [brightnail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightnail/pseuds/brightnail)




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